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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26293009">A Soldier's Letters</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarfNation524/pseuds/MarfNation524'>MarfNation524</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Boys in War [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bombs, Character Death, Dehydration, Disabled Character, Germany, Gun Violence, Hallucinations, I Made Myself Cry, I'm Sorry, Infection, M/M, Men Crying, Minor Original Character(s), My First AO3 Post, Original Character Death(s), Other, POV Original Character, Past, Past Child Abuse, Post-War, Starvation, Trapped, Trench Warfare, War, World War I</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:22:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,009</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26293009</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarfNation524/pseuds/MarfNation524</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>I created this story back in my sophomore year for a history assignment on WWI and will be the first work I post on here.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Character &amp; Original Character, Original Character(s)/Original Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Boys in War [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1910467</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Unfound</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>February 21, 1916</strong>
</p><p>I awoke in a musty enclosure, walls of dirt over and around me as I laid on my backside. I panicked and tried sitting up in the process, only for pain to shoot up from my abdomen and hips. I looked over them to find a shard sticking out from my hip’s side and my legs crushed by one of the dirt walls. Then it hit me, the memory of entering Verdun, settling near Bois d'Avaucourt and Etain, and waiting for the bombardment to strike the Poilu (the French). Then we charged toward the enemy with our artillery and hand grenades, only I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings and instead of engaging in combat, I was knocked back into a small trench by a blast of an explosion, losing my weapons in the process. A shard from the projectile had hit me and the debris collapsed onto the trench. I don’t know how long I was out, but through the small cracks of my barricade, the sky was a tint of a desaturated orange so I could only assume that it’s noon. I called out for my troop’s elder, Wilhelm Vanhelt, but no reply, so I held my arms up and tried to lift my dirt coated ceiling, but to no avail. I put my arms down, only to lift them up again while calling out for help. I did this until my throat went dry and my arms gave out, which led to me writing to no one in particular for I hadn’t created a soon enough bond with my troop mates and my parents back home in Berlin, Germany fled to Sweden early on, leaving me in my lonesome. Well, not as alone as I make it seem, courtesy to my dear and close friend, Otto, who has lived in the same complex as me since Primary. Although he was as isolated as I was with his parental neglect and other children our age messing with his rolling chair’s wheels, he was always determined to keep up with others thanks to his humor and creative style. His legs just gave out one day and had never moved since. I wonder if this is how he feels all the time, trapped without the use of his lower limbs.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Rain and lost hope</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Our unnamed character is spiraling into dread and regret.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It's a bit shorter than the first, sorry</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>February 22, 1916</strong>
</p><p>Rain has started to pour heavily, filling up my coop and dampening the ground. I had hoped that the water would help my legs slip out from the now mush felt wall, but it had only made the wall heavier on them. I felt as if I was sinking even further into the trench. It’s not all cons though, I had cupped my hands upwards and desperately drank the rain’s fluids, extinguishing my thirst for a bit. The adrenaline from yesterday has died down, but was now replaced with an ache on my side where the shard stuck out and the pressure on my lower limbs have become cramped. It’s just a scratch. I tried hollering out for aid, in hopes that someone would hear my screams, but I realized that no one would come, turning my yells into sobs. I thought about muffling my cries, but it only made me cry louder when it crossed my mind that it didn’t matter, because no one would ever hear them. I should have never left home, left Otto, on his own.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. A War's Meanings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The war presumes and recalls of another.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It must be frustrating not knowing our character's name, but you'll know it by the 6th chapter so don't fret too much about it ;))</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>February 23, 1916 </strong>
</p><p>The waterfall has not let up. I can hear noise from a distance beyond my reach. The war continues without my presence. I turned my head to the side and noticed another pair of boots similar to mine through a crack in the wall, but I could smell the putried rot coming from them. Dead. Like I shall be soon. I had just joined this stupid war at the ripe age of 16 and will never see the bloody end of it. What was the purpose of it, and what would be the outcome? I clench my teeth just thinking about the fact that we seemed to have forgotten what the gain was, the reason for our onslaught toward our own kind. Human. We are no better than one another, because we share common habitence on this planet, have similar emotions, we all reach for a goal. But this war is at the fault of everyone, the body count is on our hands. And, oh, the irony of my own country’s devices would lead to my utter demise. As I lay here, stuck and silenced, I can feel my body rotting due to the muddy ground, already decaying before I could allow them to as a way of saying that my body, too, has given up on survival. My stomach clenches viciously, devouring itself. I long for the bread samples Mr. Henry from the Berlin Bakery would give us. Otto and I would race each other to the bakery everyday after school, but Otto’s cart would always buckle, so we’d call it a tie. We would sit down outside the Bakery and count all the trollies that pass by before heading home together. At school, our teachers had no hope for Otto’s education, but that was at their fault. I was persistent in aiding him, but the teachers mistakened my determination for idiocy, and proclaimed that there was no hope for me as well. Maybe they were right about me, but Otto is a different story. He’s not here after all.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Deteriorating inside and out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Injuries worsen, the start of hallucinations, and past summer smiles.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A small moment that's cherished beyond most.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>February 24, 1916 </strong>
</p><p>The rain has died down, but the moisture lingered. The body that was outside my dome must have attracted rats. They would come in and out of my cage, as if they were waiting for me to die, otherwise they'd be eating me alive right about now. But they're patient. Starvation has now become the norm and my thirst is starting to grow. I wished for the waterfall to come back. I checked on my wound constantly, as if it would disappear if I did. It didn’t have time to dry up due to the rain and it was a ring of yellow and purple with puss sticking to the piece of metal. It might be infected, but that didn’t matter anymore. I’m going crazy, I know it. I keep hearing noises outside my dome, so I shout out, but nothing would happen. The cramps on my legs are unbearable and are just a reminder of my inevitable death approaching. It’s cold, but stuffy as well, and I could no longer see through the cracks as clearly as I was able to. I shake with a cold sweat running down my brows. I miss summer. Otto and I would fan each other to kill the heat while making up stories with imaginary people, in an imaginary place, and in an imaginary time. We would make our stories come alive on paper and recreate each other’s ideas. He would flash a smile at me when I would come up with something he liked. His dimples stuck out more when he did. I miss it, I miss him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Shutting down</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>His body is failing him, his grasp is loose, and his heart is sorrowful.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>We're near the end now and he knows it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>February ??, 1916 </strong>
</p><p>The rain didn’t come back. I started vomiting, it was my body’s way of rejecting any fluids left. Water couldn’t replace food. I lay in my own waste and my skin hangs off on me. I feel like crying, but I'm too scared that it will also run dry. The voices have become louder, but I know better than to answer. There's never a reply. I can’t depend on my vision for much longer, but it’s my only way of writing. My shaking has become more violent and I spasm out once in a while. I can’t remember what my leader looked like, what my favorite color was, or even my parent’s faces. But I can remember Otto. Otto and I sat next to each other, watching the trollies, when he decided to express his wants about joining the war. We both knew that wasn’t possible, but then he asked if I would join for him. It was a simple suggestion, but nonetheless, I amused his idea with my own reasoning. “Who would take care of you while I’m away?” I beckoned. “I’ll be fine on my own, ya goof,” he grinned before continuing with, “Just imagine all the ladies you’ll attract when you get back.” We looked at each other, before we broke into a fit of laughter. We both knew that women were not in our minds, and never will be. At that moment, I figured, maybe I would join, just for him. I should have stayed with him instead.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Him</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A name, a reminiscent, and a face</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>One of the longest chapters yet.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>February???, 1916</strong>
</p><p>I’m seeing things. Things that aren’t there, I’m sure of it. But then why do I get this warm, familiar feeling when I look directly at Otto? The voices outside my trench have turned into shouts and yelps, like people are just behind the walls, but all I can focus on is Otto staring back at me, with his dimpled faced grin and a gleam in his dark amber eyes. He’s mouthing words to me that I cannot hear, but I know what he’s saying. “Wallie,” he repeats over and over again. A nickname only he uses for me, but the meaning is simply short for ‘Walter’. My name. My breathing has become heavy and I have become drowsy, but I refuse to rest. Not with Otto here, not when this may be the last time I see him. He has my left hand in his grasp, while his right hand brushes my hair off my face and to the side. It feels like a light breeze instead of a hand, but I no longer care because he’s here. I can feel my throat closing up and something wet running down my face. I’m crying. I was always the crybaby of the two. I cried when the teacher would scold me, I cried when I returned home to find a letter instead of my parents, and I cried when I dispatched off to the war, waving goodbye to Otto’s approving smile. We could never find a name to our relationship, but it never mattered because we always had each other and that was all that mattered. I feel tired, but I’m terrified. Otto seems to take notice so he tries to laugh lightly, even with no sound coming out, as a way to reasurrence me that it was alright. I could practically hear it as my memory recognizes his comforting laughter and relaxes me. I feel warm. Reassured . And heavy-eyed...</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. A Author's Letter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A note from me to any readers.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>His story has ended, but his lover's has just began.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>To the viewers,</strong>
</p><p>People seemed to have forgotten that WWI had helped cause the Gay Rights Movement after Soldiers demanded equal rights as a way to repay them for the lives the war had taken. I wanted my characters to represent homosexuality, even if it was subtilty mentioned. Berlin, Germany (where my main two characters were from) was actually a homosexual safe haven during the early 1900s before Hitler’s dictatorship, making my character’s behaviors overviewed and their attachment to each other uncriminalized. My story was influenced by an actual event between a German soldier and his partner, who waited for him back at home. The soldier was wounded and would send his partner letters, longing for his partner. Sadly, their story ended horrifically when the soldier had died from his wounds and never received his lover’s responses. Although my story is a bit different, it still has the same loneliness and tragedific ending as the original. My teacher had mentioned at the beginning of this assignment that he’s had stories given to him from students where women weren’t allowed in the war for not being men, so they dressed as men. My story portrays a time era where men were criminalized for not being with a woman, so they went to war instead.</p><p>
  <span class="u">I thank anyone who’s given up their time to read this as it is the first story I’ve ever written. It may not be good as many other's, but I hope to have your support to continue writing what I desire.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Since this was for an assignment, it isn't related to any fandoms, but I do wish to make fanfictions of different fandoms in the future, I just have to figure out what fandoms to write about.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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